


Like One Angel We'll Fly

by SeekingIdlewild



Series: Hymns for Lost Angels [3]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels, M/M, Pre-Slash, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 22:55:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2891141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingIdlewild/pseuds/SeekingIdlewild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young never wanted to be immortal, but he never imagined just how horrible it could be until now, when he's faced with being stranded in a star - <i>forever</i>. But at least he isn't alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like One Angel We'll Fly

_You have one wing and I have another_  
 _Seeking shelter like sister and brother_  
 _Through the winter and through the summer_  
 _Like one angel we’ll fly far away_

“Eileen’s Song” by Burlap to Cashmere

 

* * *

 

Young lay in bed and stared at the ceiling and tried to think of nothing. Not of the past, with its mistakes and misunderstandings, its bright moments and lost opportunities, its loves and losses. Not of the future, which stretched out before him in an unfathomable eternity filled with pain. Not of the people under his command, who would shortly die in a blaze of unholy light. And definitely not of the one other person on this ship who would survive with him, suspended in fire, burning forever.

His immortality had been a burden to him ever since he’d first learned about it, but he’d never grasped its true horror until now. In a little while, Destiny would break apart around him, swallowed up in the heat of a star, but he would not die with her. Oh no, he would not be granted that mercy. He was a fallen angel, and this was his Hell.

Whatever he had done in his former life to deserve this, he repented.

At least he’d had a chance to tell Emily that he loved her. He’d even meant it, but the words had felt strange on his lips, like they ought to be followed by a qualifier of some kind. His love for her had been one of the constants of his life from as far back as his memories - the true ones - stretched, but so had his resentment of her. Most of the time, he didn’t know which emotion was the stronger of the two. Most of the time, he kept enough distance so that he wouldn’t have to find out.

It wouldn’t be a problem anymore. She was rid of him. Good for her.

And he wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the past.

The future was no good either. It was certain and horrifying, and contemplating it would only bring on the madness that he knew was waiting for him in that star. So if he couldn’t think of nothing - and it seemed he couldn’t - it was better to think of this moment, these last few breaths before the onset of his living death.

Young drew in a breath, let it out, and felt no better. He was scared. He was alone, and he was scared, and he wished…

Well, he wished for many things, but mostly he wished that he knew how Rush had managed to look so calm and dignified during their last conversation. That quip about his mediocre book. That little smile. The steadiness of his fingers gripping Young’s as they exchanged one last handshake. It had all been rather magnificent. But shouldn’t he be subject to the same agonizing fear that had Young in its grip? How could he be so at peace with his fate?

He certainly hadn’t been so a day ago. In fact, from the moment Rush had discovered just how serious Destiny’s power issues were, his behavior had been almost deranged. After throwing a series of tantrums and managing to alienate everyone on board, including Young, he had finally collapsed from sheer exhaustion, just as Young had suspected he would. If Younghad limits - and heaven knew he did - then so did Rush. Even angels needed rest.

Fortunately, Rush had awakened in a much more rational frame of mind. _Un_ fortunately, he’d been treating Young distantly ever since. Their parting on the observation deck had been polite but cold, just as if they had never learned each other’s secrets, flown together, groomed each other, or grown to be friends over the past few months.

But maybe that was just how Rush dealt with the collapse of all of his dreams - he withdrew into himself. Young could certainly relate to that, although his preference was for a bottle of hard liquor instead of a book.

And _fuck_ , he could really use a drink right about now.

How long had it been? How much longer did he have? Had he been right to hide himself away in his quarters like this? Should he be doing something more with the time he had left? If so, it was probably too late for that. Every muscle in his body was locked into rigidity and aching with tension, and he wasn’t sure he could move now even if he wanted to. So he would stay here. He would stay and he would try to think of nothing.

This was torture.

The soft echoes of footsteps in the corridor suddenly drew his scattered attention to the doorway. His heart gave a few rapid thuds as he recognized Rush’s wiry figure, glowing eerily in the orange light from the window, stepping into the room. Rush’s hands were behind his back and his expression was uncertain, as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome.

Young had never been so happy to see anyone in his entire life.

“I thought you were going to read,” he said, raising himself up on one elbow.

Rush drew his hand out from behind his back and held up a battered paperback. “It occurred to me that I could just as easily read here,” he said with a nonchalance that sounded forced.

Young felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Warmth and relief flooded him. He could have hugged the man, but he contented himself with scooting over and patting the empty place on the bed beside him instead.

Rush walked slowly toward the bed, blinking at that vacated spot as if he thought it might be a trap. Then he climbed up beside Young and settled himself with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him. He held his book in his lap, but he did not immediately start reading. He seemed to be waiting for something.

Young lay back down on the mattress, but this time he had Rush’s sunlit profile to watch instead of the ceiling. This was better. His churning fear was still present, but it was quieter now. It ate at him, but it didn’t own him. He wondered if Rush felt the same way. He must. That must why he was here - the solitude and dread had gotten to him too. Not as calm and collected as he had seemed on the observation deck, then.

Perhaps it was wrong, but Young was glad to know he was not alone in his fear.

Rush’s voice, hushed and unexpectedly gentle, broke the brief silence that had fallen between them. “If it helps at all,” he said, “the pain shouldn’t last more than an instant. The damage will be extensive and continuous. Our bodies will be too busy regenerating themselves to allow for consciousness thought, or feeling, or anything. It will be a kind of death, I imagine.”

Young _really_ could have hugged him. “Thank you,” he gasped. “That… that does help. A lot.”

“I thought it might.” Rush bent his head forward, and his hair fell across his face. The bits of silver amongst the brown strands gleamed in the warm light, touched with gold. He looked unearthly, but then, he was, wasn’t he?

“Of course,” he continued a moment later, “When… _if_ we are rescued, our recovery will be beyond excruciating.”

Young’s whole body gave a little lurch of surprise that gave way to terrified hope. “Rescued?” he repeated. “Who the hell is going to rescue us out here?”

Rush didn’t reply.

“What are you not telling me?”

Rush’s lips curved into a sardonic little smile in which Young thought he detected a hint of self-mockery. He was beginning to learn that Rush’s sarcasm had different nuances depending on where it was aimed, and it was never quite so bitter as when it was directed inward.

“It’s nothing,” Rush said with a dismissive shrug. “Just… someone who owes me a visit. I expect he’ll remember me someday. He’s not known for breaking his promises. Delaying them is a different matter entirely, it seems, but I guess time looks different when you’re older than Earth.”

“Older than Earth? Who are you talking about?”

Rush ran his fingers through his hair and then gave himself a light shake, as if throwing off some unpleasant thought. “Michael.”

“Him again,” Young said, careful to keep his voice calmer than the racing thoughts in his head. Rush had indicated that he’d been someone relatively unimportant in his previous life. ‘Not wellborn,’ wasn’t that what he had said? Somehow it was uncomfortable to think of him rubbing shoulders with Biblical characters. “I… didn’t realize you knew him personally. You have friends in high places.”

“For all the good it’s done me so far,” Rush muttered.

“But you think he’ll come through now?”

Rush shrugged again. “It’s not really been my habit to depend on other people for anything, at least not in the last century or so, but I don’t have much choice now, do I? I have to hope he does, or that the Sovereign isn’t done with me yet. I still feel my purpose like an ache in my chest - it hasn’t changed, and I haven’t failed. I haven’t had a _chance_ to fail. There was nothing I could have done to prevent this. Nothing I could have--”

“I know,” Young broke in as Rush’s voice grew more distressed and high-pitched. “You didn’t fail, Rush. I did.”

Rush bent his head forward and pressed his forehead into the heel of his left hand. “No,” he sighed, “it’s just fucking rotten luck.”

Young watching him for a minute in silence, mulling over this new piece of information. So Rush had a friend on high who might come to his aid. That was… that was good. Young was glad to know that, he really was, but it wasn’t likely to help _him_.

“I hope someone does come for you, Rush,” he murmured. “But I’m fallen. They kicked me out, right? They’re not going to take me back.”

“Ah,” said Rush, lifting his head. He sought out Young’s nearest hand and captured it in his, lacing their fingers tightly together. Rush’s palm was calloused but warm. His long, slender fingers had a strong grip, and he was holding onto Young as if he expected a struggle and didn’t mean to budge an inch.

Young raised his head enough to stare in confusion at their joined hands. “What?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Rush said quietly. “I want you close. I’d make us inseparable if I could, chain us together with links forged in holy fire, whatever it took, but this is the best I can do. I’ve lost… well, a lot. Now I’m losing Destiny. I’m not losing you too.”

Young sucked in a breath, too overwhelmed to speak, too lightheaded to think. Their clasped hands fascinated him, but he tore his eyes away long enough to seek out Rush’s face. Rush looked quietly resolute, and absolutely serious. He nodded as Young met his eyes.

“Don’t let go.”

Young swallowed hard against an upwelling of emotion and finally found his voice. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. Where would I be without my flock-mate?” Rush cracked a small smile, then he opened his book (one-handed, with the aid of his knee) and began to read, thereby ending the conversation.

Just as well. Young would prefer not to spend his last waking moments crying from an excess of sentiment. He’d go out with a little more dignity than that, thank you.

He rested his head back on the bed and stared at the ceiling again, but without any of the frantic terror that had plagued him before Rush’s arrival. Rush’s hand in his felt like a lifeline, and he clung to it gratefully, drawing comfort and strength from their connection. Young didn’t keep track of how long they remained like that, side-by-side, hand-in-hand. MInutes passed, maybe an hour, maybe two - he wasn’t really sure. His thoughts no longer revolved in his head like spinning blades, but rather they drifted lazily without any real sense of direction. It was almost peaceful.

Then Rush drew his attention by tossing his book across the room in a gesture of lofty disgust. He glanced down at Young, flashed a lopsided smile, and checked his watch. That was when his expression froze.

“What is it?” Young murmured.

“We’re late.”

“Late? To what?”

Rush let out a breath that sounded like a voiceless laugh. “To Destiny’s funeral.” In a sudden, fluid motion he was off the bed and tugging insistently on Young’s hand. “Come on.”

Young obligingly heaved himself up, reached for his makeshift cane with his free hand, and allowed himself to be steered out of the room. “I don’t understand,” he complained mildly, although he knew better than to expect a clear explanation from Rush at this point. He was quite right, too, as Rush just kept walking and didn’t bother to say anything further. But Rush also didn’t let go of his hand, and it didn’t even occur to Young to pull away from him.

They arrived in the control interface room, and Rush accessed one of the consoles. Whatever he saw there prompted a startled, delighted laugh, which certainly seemed to bode well. He finally let go of Young’s hand - which felt oddly cold at the separation - and headed for the doorway.

Young hobbled after him down a few more corridors, until they had reached the observation deck. On one side of the room, two figures sat huddled together. Only their outlines were visible from this angle, but they looked vaguely like Eli and Chloe. Rush ignored them and walked straight toward the windows, which displayed a stunning landscape of molten lakes and streams and plumes of glowing gas. Young followed as quickly as he could, too awed by the vivid scenery to heed the throbbing pain in his leg.

Rush gave another joyful laugh, full of life and exuberance and hope, and Young thought he had never heard anything more beautiful. “Oh, _yes_!”

“Uh, what are we so happy about?” Eli asked.

Rush spun around to face the room, a dim figure against a backdrop of glorious light. He was positively grinning, and Young realized that he had never seen him wear that expression before. It was rather glorious, too. And infectious - Young could feel his own lips curling into an answering smile.

Rush acknowledged Eli’s question with a glance in his direction, but when he finally answered, he met Young’s eyes.

“We’re going to live.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated, and be sure to visit me on [Tumblr](http://seekingidlewild.tumblr.com/) for writing updates and general fandom squeeing.


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